It's Just Business
by Santai
Summary: Loki Laufeyson is a corporate saboteur working for the Titan Conglomerate. And he is an exceptional one, able to lie, cheat, steal, and seduce his way to the guarded secrets of the Fortune500. Though, it's not exactly his choice. His targets are given to him anonymously, one file after another with orders he could not ignore. Tony Stark could be no different. (Modern AU, FrostIron)


The air was uncomfortably warm as Loki stepped out of the bathroom, back into the bedroom. He wrinkled his nose at the old man sprawled out on the expensive purple covers, eyes closed. Unconscious, most likely, given the amount of alcohol the man had drunk in the last couple of hours. The man was naked, in preparation for how he had expected the rest of the night to pan out. It was not unwarranted, Loki supposed, the plan had worked for the most part. The target had been an old man, in his mid-late fifties, overweight, but not succumbing to his years too early, maintaining the majority of the colour to his hair. Loki hadn't anticipated the man be able to hold his liquor quite so well. This part should have happened an hour ago.

Loki sighed, relieved that he had had his timings right and the man had passed out before Loki could return from 'freshening up'. In truth, he had simply gone into the bathroom, had a glass of water and tried not to look at himself too closely in the mirror. If he didn't see his reflection, perhaps he could pretend this was someone else's evening. He hadn't even bothered to unbutton his shirt any further than the man had already managed. Which wasn't particularly far.

The man had been an executive of one of New York's biggest firms, the name of which didn't matter, nor did its line of work. He wasn't sure he wanted to know in the first place. It would only serve to ground what he was doing in reality. Something he was happy to avoid for as long as possible. In fact, Loki made a concerted effort to know only the bare minimum to execute these projects. Whatever made the job more straightforward.

He gave the slack-jawed man one final once over to make sure that he was unaware before he slipped from the darkened bedroom and into the lounge of the flat. It was still lit, the man too keen to move the evening into the bedroom to bother with such trivialities. It was furnished with professional minimalism. Dark wood cabinets and bookshelves pressed against the clean, bright walls, complemented the leather sofas and a dark rug that sat on laminated oak flooring. There were no personal effects anywhere in sight, not even a painting on the wall. Loki couldn't help but commend the man's tastes, though it was apparent this was not this man's only property.

He padded quietly across the room to one of the cabinets not far from the large window overlooking the cityscape. The leftmost drawer slipped open with ease at his slightest pull. Lying in the bottom was simple, black, hardbound project book, exactly where the man had drunkenly confessed it to be not an hour ago.

Loki's lip twitched up into a grim smile as he lifted it out and flicked through the pages. It was full of scribbled notes and hand-drawn diagrams, initial plans that Loki quite frankly cared little for. All this book was to him was a way to keep his job for another day.

How he felt about that prospect was something he would deal with later.

Sealing off that particular thought train, he tucked the book under one arm and reached back into the drawer once more. A USB stick was taped to the back panel, out of view of anyone giving the drawer a cursory glance. It came away easily from the wood as Loki slipped his fingers behind the tape, pulling it out of the drawer and into his back pocket. With that, he closed the drawer.

That was it. He had successfully completed another project. He held what was undoubtedly this man's life's work. It would have made his career. His firm would have double, no, tripled its profits and he would be able to enjoy his retirement thirty years early. Loki's boss couldn't be having that though.

That future was walking out of the door with Loki. Now that man's future held nothing but failure. Loss of everything. Respect, career, money. Gone.

The man would know who did it. The man with the black hair he met in the bar down the street. His name? He never got a name. It didn't matter at the time. Where does he live? No idea. His apartment was nearby why would he even ask. Who does he work for?! It didn't exactly come up in conversation. Why did you tell him these things?! ...Hubris.

The door clicked quietly behind him as Loki left the apartment, two hours after arriving. It was a new record. Loki's stomach churned sickeningly at the thought.

The office building was spotted with lights. It was 10:30pm, only those trying to make a name for themselves in the career, or those who had little choice in the matter were here at this hour. It was a tall building, not unlike the other tall buildings of New York but it seemed to loom that little bit more than its neighbours.

He paused at its base, taking a moment for himself in the cold night air, before striding confidently towards the doors. There was a security guard sat behind a wide circular desk directly opposite the entrance. She cast a lazy glance his way as Loki crossed the lobby. As he reached the set of turnstiles, the guard reached out and pushed a button somewhere on her console. There was a soft beep, and Loki continued on through towards the bank of elevators ahead. Behind him, he heard the security guard pick up her phone, already announcing his arrival to the man Loki was going to see.

No matter how many times Loki had ridden this lift, he still hated it. Why exactly, he couldn't say. Claustrophobia didn't affect him elsewhere and never had. Perhaps it was the sheer simplicity of it. It was a dull, metal box with just two buttons. One for each of its only two destinations. It might as well have been a service elevator to anyone who hadn't been told differently. For such a vast and wealthy company, this elevator seemed much more appropriate as a container for transporting livestock to the slaughter.

Maybe that was it.

A sharp ding echoed through the box, triggering that same almost physical reaction he felt every time he came here. Loki took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his collar before the doors opened.

There was an old hunched man waiting to greet him, standing just a few feet from the lift's doors. Despite his years here, Loki had never asked for, nor cared to find out this man's name. Names were for loved ones, friends, family, friendly acquaintances even. This man fit none of those descriptors. He barely fit 'man'.

Loki fought the urge to wrinkle his nose as the man stepped closer, sending a waft of the sickly stench of death up his nose.

"You're early, Laufeyson," the man drawled in that rasping, choked voice that could not have suited him better.

Loki eyed him, "I wanted to get this done."

The man smiled. Before he had begun his work here, Loki would not have believed that anyone could become more grotesque while smiling. "Thanos will be pleased," he nodded to himself, making Loki even more uncomfortable. With that, he turned and began to shuffle back to his desk.

The desk was set off to the right of the room that the elevator opened up into. This was the only way into this room. At least as far as Loki knew. There were no windows and no other elevators. The only doors were a set of tall double doors made of black room, set into the wall opposite the elevator. The whole room was just a bit bigger than 20ft square, and the only furniture in it was the desk, and the chair behind it.

Loki didn't hesitate to follow the man to the desk, requiring a force of will to keep his head up. These people had not broken him yet. Though he couldn't bring himself to look at those doors. He'd never been through them. Never even seen through them. But he knew what was behind them, and it was the last place Loki ever wanted to be. The moment he stepped through those doors, he would have already lost everything.

Loki pulled the book out from under his arm and dropped it onto the desk with a bang, tossing the stick alongside it.

He watched with an odd hunger, "You've done well," he said after a moment, lifting the items off the desk and placing them almost reverently into one of his drawers.

"When have I failed," Loki replied shortly.

The man looked up and met Loki's gaze, instantly smothering any tiny spark of confidence he might have felt, "Don't be so smug, boy. Remember where you are, and who put you there."

Loki tried to keep his chin up under the weight of the man's gaze. It was profound and crippling, and Loki clenched his jaw and looked to the floor. This one of the few places where his silver-tongue would do nothing but dig his grave just that little bit deeper. But that didn't stop him from contemplating how much of a kindness it would be to rid the world of this man's withered existence. It was a small satisfaction that he clung to. Even if he did hope that his face didn't betray his thoughts.

The man chuckled. A broken, gravelly noise, more akin to a death rattle than an expression of amusement, "You may go. Return here tomorrow for your next assignment."

Loki didn't speak, simply nodded curtly and turned for the elevator, desperate to get away from the man, the office, and that door.

Tony swirled the dregs of his drink, half melted ice cubes chinking against the glass. Quite how he'd found this bar, he couldn't fully remember. All he knew was that he was hiding from Steve and Pepper and they already knew all of his usual haunts. Something about falling behind on schedules or something. The same old stuff. Tony just couldn't deal with it right now.

This particular establishment was a good distance away from Stark Tower. Hopefully far enough that Steve and Pepper wouldn't think to look here. A classy place, filled with men, not unlike himself, wealthy, well-dressed, drinking expensive drinks and talking lucidly over the quiet music in the background. Even the bartender was wearing a shirt and tie. This wasn't a place to get blind drunk. They'd never look for him here. He smirked at his own ingenuity and finished his drink in one final mouthful.

Sliding his glass back across the bar, Tony motioned for a refill and glanced up at the clock. It was nearly 1am. He'd been there for about three hours now, and he had only reached a pleasant buzz. He mentally patted himself on the back and rewarded himself with a sip of the crisp, fresh beverage, officially welcoming in the new day.

The sound of the bar door opening drew his attention, and he turned his head slowly, still holding the glass off the table in one hand. The man stood in the doorway had his attention immediately. He was tall and slim, dressed in a green shirt and skinny black jeans that made his legs seem even longer than they were. Black hair was slicked back over his head, just brushing his shoulders, framing his face that had features sharp enough to cut. The man stood in the doorway for a moment before entering the bar properly. He stumbled slightly as he walked, clearly already drunk. Tony was surprised the bouncer outside hadn't noticed.

Tony followed him across the room with his eyes until he came to lean heavily on the bar top and requested a drink. From his position, Tony couldn't accurately overhear the exchange, but it appeared that the barkeeper was refusing him. A dark scowl marred the man's otherwise handsome features, and he tried again, loud enough this time for Tony to hear the slur in his British accented words. Still, the barkeeper refused, having worked long enough to know how to deal with drunkards.

Deep in his mind, Tony felt a pang of sympathy. It was a position he had been in many times before, and a part of him wondered what had driven this man into this state.

Tony's body seemed to move without him telling it to do so, sliding off his seat and crossing to stand beside the man, earning himself a confused, though still dark frown.

"Hey, Paul was it?" Tony asked the barkeeper who arched an eyebrow at him, "How about we make a deal? One drink, just one, on me, plus a large tip for yourself, and I'll put him in a taxi, sound fair?"

Paul eyed Tony for a long moment before rolling his eyes and turning away to get the drink.

Tony flashed a smile at the man next to him who had lowered himself onto one of the nearby barstools and was propping his forearms on the bar, "You're welcome."

"I didn't ask for help," the man said harshly, though he clasped the drink Paul placed in front of him with a fierce possessiveness.

Tony raised an eyebrow, "Well, aren't you an angry drunk."

"I'm not drunk," the man growled, taking a large swig of his drink.

"Uh huh…" Tony watched as the man lowered his drink to the bar and stared at it silently, looking very much like he was on the verge of hurling it against a wall. It did nothing but pique Tony's curiosity, "Tony Stark," he held out his hand to introduce himself.

The man glanced at it out of the corner of his eye like it was the last thing he wanted to touch before looking back to his drink, blinking slowly, tiredly, "I know."

"You're supposed to tell me your name," Tony informed him, retracting his hand. He wasn't surprised that the man already recognised him. He was a well-known figure throughout the city. One of the few CEO's that actually made themselves the face of their company rather than hiring a team to do it for them. And he wasn't exactly subtle in how he made his appearances.

The man turned his head, an over exaggerated movement that he was barely in control of, "Why would I do that?" he asked, curiously, regarding Tony out of the top of those emerald eyes, glazed and distant from alcohol.

"Because I want to know."

The man chuckled and looked back to his drink, "Well, can't have someone not get what they want from me, can we?" he muttered, taking another mouthful.

Tony frowned. He wasn't sure the guy had meant to say that bit out loud, "So you gonna tell me?"

The man shook his head, moving it a little too far to each side, "No."

"Aw come on, you're not going to tell me your name even after I bought you a drink," Tony tried his best puppy eyes.

"Leave me alone," the man grumbled, finishing his drink in one final swig and going to stand up. He wobbled dangerously, reached out to use the bar as support, missed and nearly dropped to the ground. Tony moved quickly and managed to slip an arm under the man's shoulders before he hit the floor.

"Yeah, 'cause you'd do just great on your own," Tony pointed out, lifting the man back onto his feet. He was surprisingly light, even for a guy of his height, and Tony couldn't help but catch a whiff of expensive cologne and shampoo under the fog of alcohol.

"Get off me," the man hissed venomously and made a violent attempt to push Tony away, managing to get both his hands onto Tony's chest and shoving. It was a forceful shove, given his condition, and Tony couldn't help but notice a mix of emotions flicker across the guy's face. Anger and suspicion that bordered on full-blown fear flashed across his features.

Tony let go instantly. He could recognise an anxiety trigger when he saw one. Now that the guy was upright he seemed mostly stable. Tony just kept his hands close, just in case.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, big guy," Tony replied, guiding him back into his seat, keeping one arm in place to steady the precarious swaying. He pulled his wallet out of his jacket with his free hand and tossed a few notes onto the counter. More than enough to cover the tab and the tip and then probably three more drinks. Tony just wanted to get the guy out of the bar before anything else pushed this guy to freak out, collapse or throw up. In his condition, he was probably dangerously close to any of those. Once he had tucked his wallet away, he turned to help the guy back onto his feet, only to find him staring intently at his face.

"You're very attractive," the guy decided, matter-of-factly.

Tony raised his eyebrows at the unexpected comment and gave a flirtatious smirk, "Well thank you, so are-"

"It wasn't a compliment," the man cut him off, dissipating Tony's smirk immediately, and going to stand again. Tony helped him up, despite the new scowl on his face. This time, the man either didn't react so violently. He made some incoherent protest but allowed himself to be supported.

"Attractiveness isn't a good thing?" Tony asked as he guided him out the door of the bar and into the cool night air.

The man opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it, twisting out of Tony's grip instead, as though only just realising he was still in it, "Can walk on my own!" he insisted, stumbling over his own feet and falling ungracefully to the pavement on his hands and knees. A soft groan fell from his lips, and he made no move to get up.

Tony sighed as he watched with pity, seeing something of himself in the stubborn drunken man, swaying on all fours. After a moment, he crouched in front of the man's head and offered a small, reassuring smile, "Hey, come on, let's get you home."

The man lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, "Why're you helping me? What d'you want?"

Tony shrugged, "I don't want anything; I've just been in your position enough times to know when a guy needs help."

The man chuckled, a little too loudly, shifting his weight back until he fell onto his ass, gazing absently at his lap, "A lie and a false assumption. You don't know my position," he said quietly, his voice suddenly thick with restrained emotion.

Tony tilted his head, "It's not a lie, I really can be empathetic sometimes. And not that I remember all of them, but I can certainly say I've found myself in a very similar position to where you are right now. Except I'm usually on my own."

At that, the man looked up and searched Tony's gaze intensely, suddenly more lucid than he had been all the time they'd been together. His eyes flicked between Tony's, looking for something. Tony found himself unable to look away.

A note of confusion flickered across the man's face, and he broke eye contact, "S'not a lie," he whispered, finally to himself, but said nothing more about his 'position'. After a second, he reached out to place a hand on the nearby building wall to support himself back to his feet.

Tony stood along with him, watching carefully for any sign of him falling again, still incredibly curious about what his 'situation' was. It couldn't be that bad, could it? Tony shrugged it off. There was no way he was about to get any answers from the guy in this state. He hadn't even gotten a name for Christ's sake.

"So where do you live?" Tony asked conversationally, as the man took a moment to steady himself, placing a hand over his stomach.

At the question, the man frowned and glanced around, before apparently realising he was supposed to be being surly and scowling at him, "Why the hell should I tell you?" he jabbed a finger in Tony's direction, the force of which made him sway dangerously. But he remained upright.

Tony stuffed his hands in his pockets and regarded the man with calm patience, a look he perfected from seeing it on the faces of Steve and Pepper so often, "Because, Captain Grouch, I'm going to take you home."

"I can ge' home on m'own," the man spat, attempting to take a step forward to prove his point, only to misjudge it and stumble sideways into the wall.

Tony winced, feeling increasingly sorry for the guy. He watched him rest against the wall, having lost the energy to even hold his head up himself and sighed, "I'm not going anywhere. So you can tell me where you live or you can pass out here on the street like some bum and-"

"I'm notaa bum!" the man hissed, violently.

Tony paused at the sudden venom in his voice noting to avoid saying that again, "Ooook then, so you gonna tell me where you live? 'Cause that's the only option left; I swear not to sell your address to any third parties or send you any unwanted mail."

The man regarded him for several minutes, while Tony presented his most trustworthy smile and waited patiently. Hurrying a drunk guy, especially one as stubborn as this one, would get him nowhere. He knew that well enough from his own experiences of being himself.

Eventually, the man gave up his address. Tony's eyebrows rose. He lived upmarket. Just by looking at the guy, he hadn't guessed that he was that well off. He was only wearing a pair of dark skinny jeans, a dark green t-shirt and a grey blazer. Comfortable, sure, but very wealthy? Tony just hadn't made the assumption.

"That's not far from here," Tony mused, glancing around to get his bearings before looking back at the man still leaning on the wall. His eyes had drifted closed, "You gonna let me help you walk, or do you and the pavement want to get better acquainted?"

The man blinked tiredly but didn't lift his gaze. He was well past partaking in Tony's quips, "Jus' keep quiet on the way."

"No promises," Tony replied, smiling as he stepped round to the man's side and looped an arm around his waist, lifting the man's arm over his shoulders with his free hand and gripping it around the wrist, taking his weight easily.

The man made no attempt to get away, but simply leant his weight against Tony, head lolling a little. His energy was almost entirely gone.

The walk back was slow, made difficult by Tony's poor sense of direction and the man's inability to walk in a straight line. Most of the journey was spent in silent, but Tony found himself unable to stay quiet, making random pointless observations or checking to make sure the man wasn't about to throw up all over his shoes or every now and then making a guess of the man's name.

He was always wrong. Or at least, the man didn't respond.

Eventually, they came to the glass revolving door of a tall, swanky apartment building that could have rivalled Stark Tower itself and the two of them stopped in front of it upon Tony's new friend's indication.

"Nice place you got here," Tony commented, helping the man negotiate the revolving door as he dug around in the pocket of his jeans for a set of keys.

The reception area was equally grand as the outside. The large room had a high, wooden desk to one side, manned by a middle-aged woman who looked too tired to even pretend to be polite. On the wall opposite her was a square set of shelves, each with a pile of mail laid on it. At the far end, three elevators stood side by side, ready to transport the residents to their floors.

The concierge looked up from the magazine she was reading as the man made a wild, pointless gesture. Tony offered a small, reassuring smile and she went back to reading, happy she wasn't going to have to deal with a drunken resident.

"You're not coming up," the man informed him, seriously, once again pointing a finger in Tony's direction once he had twisted out of his grip. He seemed to have sobered up enough on the walk to enunciate correctly and stand on his own feet.

Tony held up his hands in a gesture of peace, smirking. Now that he knew the guy was safe and home, he could acceptably find the situation amusing. "Didn't expect anything less from a guy who hasn't even told me his name," he placed a hand on his heart and gave a small salute, "Just wanted to make sure you passed out in a place with heating," he flashed a grin and turned to leave, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

He had his hand on the revolving door when the man spoke again.

"Loki."

Tony stopped and looked over his shoulder, mild confusion on his face, "Bless you?"

"My name," the man said, hesitantly, like he was giving up his greatest secret, "it's Loki."

They regarded each other for a while before Tony nodded his head, "I'll take that as a thank you," he smiled warmly and walked from the building, head held high.


End file.
